Way of A Memory
by Prewritesuccession
Summary: Shayleen "Shay-shay" Maxwell had lots of guy friends. But after moving to Germany for four years, she's sure no one remembers her as she lives and works with her Aunt and Uncle at their beachside home/lodge/hotel. But she's in for a surprise when her past comes back along with a few new and familiar faces, bringing emotions that Shay can't quite seem to sort through.
1. Shay With Love

"_Dear friend, Sep. 26, 2007_

_ Germany is really a lot bigger than I expected. There're churches and ice cream parlors and a lot of people speaking a language I can hardly understand. It feels strange to be with so many strangers. My family and I hope to come visit soon! __Wir sehen uns sp__ä__ter!_ _ With Love,_ _ Shayleen "Shay-shay" Maxwell_

_p.s. In German, the two little dots over a vowel (an umlaut) means the long sound, like we sometimes talked about in English. It makes the word 's__p__ä__ter' sound like (Shh-pay-ter).__" _

I sent out seven little copies of my letters, all hand-written lovingly by me. I stuck on the stamps, paired with the specially picked out post-cards for each one of my close friends back in Japan. The Neuschwanstein Castle for Fuji and Yuuta, the Brandenburg Gate for Tachibana and An, the Romantic Road for Yukimura, Dresden Frauenkirche for Saeki, Erfuter Garden to Shiraishi, and finally, a Love Parade crowd for Kirihara. I hoped they would enjoy it and write me back. Most of my friends were boys; all of the girls I knew didn't like playing tennis or swords, but preferred dresses and dress-up games. You could say they weren't my _"it crowd." _

I befriended some of my parent's friends' kids, school friends, and boys I met at street tennis with my Dad. I felt like I changed so much: back then I had pinned-back bangs and short hair and only wore cotton pants and large sweaters. Now I had locks of deep violet hair I let frame my cheeks. I always wore dresses and skirts. I had found something even more interesting than tennis.

Germany was great. I personally thought the letters were much easier to use than the many combinations of characters in Japanese. I even made some female friends, to the delight of my mother. Then there were four years. Four years of friends and letters and a drunk driver that wasted it all. Then to Japan and Aunt and Uncle whom I didn't even know.

I still had the letters but it had been a long time since anyone had sent me any back. Besides, it was a long time and now I had changed. I could play light tennis at the courts up in town, but preferred to go watch the waves and sort through tide pools for new signs of marine life. After cooking and cleaning and helping our guests, the rocks and pools were my second love. It was awesome, my new life. Home school by morning, chores in afternoon, and recreational time all evening. That basically meant I had my nights free. I'd take my water-proof bag and a dinner then stay out there on the rocks looking down at the beach until the stars came out.

Maybe I'd sometimes be lonely. My only friends were the sea urchins who wouldn't leave with each tide like our guests. I always signed my letters, "With Love, Shay." But there wasn't any love out there for me?


	2. Silver Friend Sae

"We've got a big slew of guests coming for these next two weeks. You've got some heavy cleaning duties coming up, Shay-shay." My aunt twirled her wooden stirring spoon in her fingers then stopped, end pointing at me. She raised an eyebrow as if this were a dare. "So you _better _be nice." Then with a swift flourish (and a well-placed kick), Aunt Noni brought out the silver cart, slowly wheeling itself out at her feet like an obedient dog. She plopped down bowls of rice, miso soup, cooked vegetables, and a big pan of fried tofu that shook like little mounds of nasty, flesh-colored gelatin. Sorry if I'm being too...hmm..._vivid_. I just _really _hate tofu.

When I first moved here from Germany a year ago, tofu was the _worst thing I had ever tasted_. That and shirako sushi. If you don't know what shirako is, please...just look it up. I...I...don't really want to talk about it.

_Anyway_, on a happier, much more _not disgusting _note, my Aunt and Uncle's beachside manor/lodge/hotel is being occupied by some five dozen (citation needed) middle school boys. That's more middle school boys in one place than I've seen in the last two years. Just for the record, I'm home-schooled. Not some drop-out who now lives and works for my family business, thank _you _very much. But after Mom and Dad died, I moved here, learned Japanese, and developed my "hostess skills," as Aunt Noni loves to refer to it as.

Because I lived in America for six years, Japan for two, then Germany for four, and finally, Japan for another one, Uncle tells me I have an "English German accent when I speak Japanese." I thought that was rather funny because my German teacher told me I have a "Japanese English accent when I speak German." I'm not sure how to respond to Uncle's accent-thing, but I _do _know I have a very slight quirk in my English. Those who know German can relate. I tend to make a 'v' sound at every 'w;' one of the "rules" of the language. But that was in _English_. Who _knows _what it could sound like in _Japanese. _

"-And Shay-shay are you even _listening_?" I looked up, startled, at my aunt. She had the cart, her arm propped up casually against the silver row of dishes. "Get the silverware, dinner's almost ready!" I quickly pulled open the right drawers and placed pairs of chopsticks and spoons for soup neatly on the second tray of the little cart. As I set down all the wares, I secretly watched my aunt, impatiently doing last-minute flavor checks on all the dishes above.

Aunt Noni was still rather young, with black hair and violet eyes that could be both sharp and gentle at the same time: a mother's eyes. Ironic, considering her and Uncle don't have any children of their own. Her hair was pinned into a messy bun at the back of her head and the loose strands around her face seemed to give her an even more carefree look about her. More irony, as she's probably the busiest woman I've ever encountered. She wore a pale green flowered dress under a bright red apron with a pair of black, flat, sandals. Aunt Noni's first policy for the workers of this establishment (Uncle, Auntie, and I) was that you could not ever ever _ever _wear high heels while serving customers.

"_Clumsiness is a highly avoidable crime," _Auntie would often have me sing out loud to make sure I had gotten the message. Oh, I had gotten it, all right. I had gotten it hundreds of times. She also wore no make-up: "All the sweat will just make everything a mess, plus truly beautiful woman don't need to cover her true beauty." I could fill a novel with such quotes.

I finished setting the silverware and untied my apron, hanging it onto the hook posted into the wood next to the kitchen door. I let Auntie pass with the cart and she threw me her own red apron to hang. I had saved my own plate I had all wrapped up and ready inside the second pocket of my bag. Taking it off the hook outside the door, I tightened the strap around my shoulder and happily jogged outside, leaving behind all the other loud noises from the dining hall. Closing my eyes, I smiled into the setting sun and quickly opened the back gate, wheeling out my bike. I carefully stepped in my long, red, gingham skirt and straightened out my white blouse before pedaling hard down our way, across the street, and onto the side-walk along the beach. I leisurely biked for a few minutes before stopping and fastening my bicycle on the rack next to the beach. A few kids and adults played in the water as the sun flickered warmly over the gentle waves, but this public beach wasn't my destination.

Behind me was the road, winding down gently to this low spot where the land met the water. But instead of taking the few steps down into the white sand, I strolled along the side-walk for a little longer to inland before turning away from the main road again and into the field of scraggly plants poisoned by the salty winds brought in from the ocean. I climbed through the mess of crabgrass and weeds until my feet touched rock.

This was my favorite place. The scraggly shell of dark stone stretched across a few dozen yards before abruptly stopping to meet more dirt and broken plants. A small cleft no more than six feet high was where my black rock met the small stretch of white sand below. To my left, after the rock ended and a little further still after that, was a low drop onto a little plot of beach, a small sand hill leading down into the water, surrounded by a wall of growing crabgrass and a large face of the same black rock as my shell. It rose like a cliff, spraying waves across the white sand. I hardly ever ventured there; first because it was a public beach, and second, I never really came down to the beach to get wet.

I happily took out my dinner and set my bag down carefully. Weaving around the many shallow tide-pools, I sat at the end of the rock, swinging my legs over the face, across the soft sand below. The gentle crest of waves breaking lulled me into peace and I finished my food in a trance-like state. After watching the orange streaks across the water for a little longer, I finally stood and brushed off my skirt. Putting away my plate, I got out a composition notebook, a small strip of measuring tape, and one of those waterproof cameras that can print out instant photos. Looping the strap around my neck, I happily fingered the familiar buttons and knobs. This was the first gift Auntie and Uncle had gotten me when I first arrived.

Leaning down, I balanced my notebook and tape in one hand and picked my way through the many little pools, pausing at the one at the edge of my rock face, closest to the ocean. Bending over, I opened my composition and flipped to the page labeled **TIDEPOOL-18**. I scoured the clear water for any new signs of life and happily snapped a few pictures of a tiny sea anemone and new sea urchin.

That was the thing about this one tide-pool; at every high tide, new plants or animals were washed up onto this rock and into every little pool, especially this one due to its close location to the water. I gently set down my camera and unraveled a small length of my measuring tape, and slowly stretching one of the moving tentacles, I measured the fleshy piece. Wiping off my wet hand I pasted down the sea anemone picture and wrote the date and length. Then, sticking my finger back in, I let the little, non-toxic tentacles gently lick my fingers. I laughed and started cataloguing my other new (and other old) specimens.

The sea was starting to break heavier by the time I was done, and faded blues were just barely smeared across the sky's horizon. Smiling, I kicked off my sandals and swung my legs over the dark cleft again. The water barely chilled my toes when the waves rushed to greet me. It wasn't high tide. The water wouldn't be able to come further up until next week, but water could still be treacherous this time of month and day. Slipping back into my shoes, I gathered all my things and rose, swinging my bag across my shoulder, letting it swing at my back as I left to find my bike.

Before I could even step off the rock and onto the dirt, however, a shout broke my stride and I stumbled forward in surprise.

"Help! Somebody please help!" I dropped my bag and ran towards the small enclosure of a beach with the giant black cliff looming over it. The voice was a boy's and I hurried my step when more desperate calls echoed along with the first. I paused at the edge of the hill and my eyes widened at the scene folding out before my eyes.

Below the crest of my crab-grass hill were a small group of boys, in wet clothes and drenched hair. One boy was caught in the waves, not far from shore. But despite his efforts to swim back, the tides pushed him closer to beach...then pulled him even further away. Plus that and the fact that the waves ricocheted off the rocks creating an extra drag and push, he was, in basic words, pretty much screwed. Guy after guy kept trying to crash through the water and save the drowning boy, but each wave crest pulled them back and spat them out back into the sand. The water was deep around the rock face and no one could get a good footing. One boy with silver hair got close, his head bobbing just feet away from the other boy, but was eventually spat back into the sand like everyone else.

Eyeing the dark water, I scrutinized the sand beneath the waves and found the problem. The boy was in a cleft of the dark rock and each wave that pounded and slipped along the ocean floor was forced up, pushing back anyone who dared come close. _He's mine, _the water seemed to screech. _Come and get him. I dare you. _

But if they just moved to the right and swam _around _the boy instead of directly _ahead, _then the pressure wouldn't push them back so much. I tried to shout my advice, but my throat was closed up tight. So without another thought, I stumbled to the edge of the hill and tore off my sandals. I leaned over the edge and peered into the dark water. The cleft was deep; a deep plunge into deep water rolling crests up to wet my skirt. The boys' voices cried out in panic as the drowning boy's head disappeared into the waves. I clenched my teeth, stiffened my muscles and without another thought, I did a perfectly arched dive into the sifting ocean below.

The last thought that hit my head as I felt the gravity pull my body down was, _and this is my favorite skirt, too. _

The second my fingertips touched the surface of dark water, I knew what would happen next. The water down was deep. The temperature would freeze my muscles, stiffening my limbs, turning my lips purple. I would be in paralysis. Not able to swim. Not able to float. But I closed my eyes tight and pursed my lips as tight as I could.

Cold. _Cold, cold, cold._ That's all I can say. You want me to keep going? You want me to go in depth about how painful it felt to have each piece of my body contract all in one second? You want me to describe each and every cell in my body experience a shock and a pain like ten million bee stings? No thank you. Never, never again.

My head broke the surface. I gasped and sputtered, salt water constricting my throat. But I closed my eyes to let my tears leak through and told myself to keep moving. It'd be done. It'd be fast. Just go help that boy. With all my will, I stopped my crying and forced my head under again, kicking hard against the current. When I lived in Florida, I had learned how to swim in the ocean. It was a little cove ten minutes from our home inland. After I could easily swim from one end to the other, Dad let me try and swim in the ocean. The waves would drift me like wood yet I could still kick. Right now, those little waves felt like _nothing_ compared to this.

I forced my dead limbs to crawl forward. My limbs felt so tight and my throat closed. My nose and eyes stung with all the salt. I wouldn't be surprised if my feet fell off. I could barely move, let alone swim. But slowly...agonizingly slowly, moving got faster and...easier. Paddling turned to treading. Treading water turned to strokes. And strokes turned to kicking.

_Swimming_. I was _swimming_.

My head broke surface again and I opened my eyes, ignoring the salty burn. I was further out, yet still far away..._too far_...from the boy. His treading was weaker, I noted. His lips blue and eyelids dropping. I pushed myself forward, not daring to plunge my head under again.

_Closer. _Tears stung my salty eyes.

_Just a few more feet. _

"Here," I croaked, stretching out a hand for the boy to take. He was here. I had made it. The boy's head broke surface again and he held out a hand. It was so...cold. His hand...my hand..._everything. _But he grasped my hand tight with his own and we were pulled down once again. The tide swept across my feet, pulling us forward, dragging on my clothes and tearing down on my skirt. I tried to tread water yet my numb appendages felt like lead. I closed my eyes.

_Just a little rest. _

I breathed as the current pulled us back up and deeper into the sea. _No!_ I screamed to myself. _No! No rest! _Against the most basic of my very humanities, I kicked. I went under. I dragged the boy's hand. I kicked. I went under. I dragged. Rinse and repeat.

_Kick._ I cried.

_One more...one more kick... _under my numb foot, I felt something. Something soft. I gave out another cry.

_Shore. I can walk. I can crawl. I can...I can..._

I collapsed onto the beach, letting go of the boy's hand I held. I felt someone pick me up and pull me further into the sand. I sighed. _Was sand always this warm and soft? _People fretted over the other guy, fluttering around him and wondering what to do, what to do...

Creaking one still stinging eye open, my world gracefully came into view. My spinning head righted itself. I opened another eye and leaned over, coughing up sea water. My clothes stuck to my skin like dead weights. I closed my eyes again and breathed hard. _At least now I can rest. _

There was a long time when I was asleep yet completely aware of everything around me. Someone coughed hard...the boy woke up. There were laughs and thumps on the back and more coughing.

"We thought you were dead."

"Stupid, you almost died!"

I wished they'd just shut up or go away. Couldn't they see how peaceful it felt to lay here in this warm, soft sand...so, _so _warm and so _soft..._But to my extreme, intense, upmost annoyance, I heard them shift their attention to me.

"She saved you!"

"Oh my gosh is she _okay?_"

I stifled a groan. _Why won't they just leave me alone? _I heard them crawl over, lean closer.

"Why isn't she moving?"

Someone pressed a fat finger on my neck.

"She's not breathing!" I almost bit him. _Wrong spot, genius. _

"Is she _dead?_" Okay. _That _was the last straw. I flashed my eyes open and pumped as much venom into my stare as I could.

"No I am not _dead_." I spat, abruptly leaning up on my elbows. A rush of dizziness hit my head and I fell back down into the sand with a groan. My wave of nausea passed, but I didn't want to attempt sitting up again.

"Here," someone said gently. I felt my head being raised carefully. Gradually, I sat up and opened my eyes. It was the silver-head, bangs wet and clinging to his forehead. He stared worriedly at me with wide eyes. I blinked rapidly in surprise and because my eyes still stung. The boy leaned forward and suddenly recoiled in shock. We echoed the same thought, but he talked first.

"_Shayleen?_" he dropped my neck and I landed in the not-so-soft-anymore-sand.

"The one and only," I groaned, slowly sitting up and rubbing my neck. I smiled weakly up at my old friend. "Hey. Long time no see, Sae."

_Shayleen, Sep. 29, 2007_

_ Thanks for the cool post card. I want to visit that church some time! Anyway, how are you? How is your language learning? Is Germany fun? I hope you have nice times away from us. I'll write back soon. Everyone's fine here. Visit soon._

_ Your friend,_

_ Saeki "Sae" Kojirou_

_p.s. Ich spreche Deutsch. _


End file.
